For Simon

by Luciano Iacobelli

We’re all amazed
how public you make your death
you say wrong turns
      missed opportunities
caused your disease

angry and resentful
except when you’re alone
        at your favorite table
            near the front window of Dooney’s café
reading a book

how does a dying man read
doesn’t read at all
but falls into the book
a ripe fruit

and you look up from the pages every few minutes
introspection’s figurehead
you stare blankly into air
reflection without ladder
a long red
       is the soul summarizing itself

your starts and finishes collected
then assembled into a stare
a look resembling the back of things

so when Night turns around
we mistake your gaze
for its spine.

— from Juniper Volume 1, Issue 1